“The aim of our interfaith Easter service, and of our interfaith community in general, is not to create a new religion, or a confusing mash-up, or to convert anyone, or to become ‘Jews for Jesus.’ Rather, we want to provide a deeper level of religious literacy for our interfaith children, to go beyond jelly beans and chocolate matzahs, to truly wrestle with the theological consonance and dissonance inevitably represented in our families, and in our increasingly interfaith world.”

Is this how we should be educating our children?  How should the Jewish Community approach interfaith families and children? Is it still OK to say a Jew should marry another Jew? Why not tell people that they should only marry for love?

Is it still OK for Jewish values to collide with the modern world?

How do you juggle the spring holiday season?

A Wedding in Conflict

Dear Two Roads,

My (Jewish) cousin is going to marry a Catholic man and this has divided our family. My folks will attend the reception but not the ceremony (after speaking with one of their Rabbis), but my aunt (an aunt of the engaged cousin) is refusing to have anything to do with her niece. I disagree with that approach entirely for so many reasons and feel sick about the whole thing. My mother is supporting my cousin out of deference to her sister, but agrees with the other sister that Michelle (cousin) should be written off of the family. Miriam (the aunt) said she would sit Shiva if it were her child, but I don\’t see that as a practical solution. How could we expect Michelle to raise a Jewish family if her own has ostracized her? I would appreciate any advice you have.

Thanks.

Questions to ponder:

• Would you go to the wedding?
• Do you agree with the aunt (Miriam) who would sit shiva (Mourn) if it were her own child?
• Can Michelle be expected to raise a Jewish family if parts of her own family have ostracized her?
• Is there anything this couple can do to ameliorate this situation and placate the non-supportive aunt?
• Any advice for the writer of this letter?

Share your thoughts with us.

The pasuk (verse) says: A twisted thing cannot be straightened, and that which is missing cannot be numbered. (Koheles 1:15).

My story is a different sort of an interfaith story. It does not include struggling with the December dilemma or deciding whether the children should go to church or temple, or Christmas trees and latkes, or “a celebration of our differences.”

Deep within the soul of every Jew resides a longing which can never be extinguished. This longing is the very essence of yiddishkeit and is called the “pintele Yid” (the Jewish spark). When my future husband and I were engaged, we read a number of books about interfaith marriage. In one particular book, the author marveled over the “tenacity” of Judaism, that is, there is something within every Jew that makes us cling to our Jewishness for dear life, wanting to pass the torah and Jewish values on to our children, even as we make plans to exchange wedding vows with our non-Jewish partners.

Although I had been raised as a secular Jew, my mother had kept two sets of dishes and a “kosher-style” home. I attended an afternoon Hebrew school (6 hours a week) and after becoming a bas mitzvah continued on with classes at the community Hebrew high school (4 hours a week). This represented only a smattering of learning, and overall, my Judaic education was poor, but nothing more was available in my city. (I never knew that other cities had full-time Jewish schools that went from kindergarten through high school and beyond, but in any case, my parents were secular Jews and wouldn’t have entertained the idea of one of those schools, even if I had asked about it.)

As a teenager, I attended weekly services at our Conservative synagogue and kept kosher for a while, but once I entered college, I drifted away from that. However, I always knew that someday, I would have a Jewish home and Jewish children. Other “interfaith” couples first “fell in love,” then got married, and then decided how they would they would raise their children. Since I was not the type of person who ever left anything to chance, I marveled at their foolishness. On my second date with my future husband, I told him up front that I wanted a Jewish home and Jewish children and that I was not open to a so-called “interfaith” home. Much to my surprise, he readily agreed to the Jewish home and children. Although he had been raised as a Catholic, he had abandoned his Christian faith as a teenager and was completely secular. While I understood that the Jewish community disapproved of intermarriage, I didn’t believe that would affect me because according to halacha (Jewish law), the biological children of a Jewish woman are Jewish. I took comfort in the fact that not even the Chief Rabbi of Israel would be able to deny my future children’s Jewishness.

In our second year of marriage, we decided the time had come to start our Jewish family. Unfortunately, God played a little trick on us, and infertility reared its ugly head. After a series of medical tests, the cause of the infertility had not yet been determined, and the additional tests would not be covered by insurance. After much soul searching, we decided to adopt and put our money toward adoption expenses rather than toward more medical procedures which may or may not have resulted in pregnancy. I was open to adopting a Jewish special needs child, but the agency told me that “intermarried” couples were not eligible to adopt Jewish children. The following year, we happily adopted a four-month-old baby boy from another country. Since I knew that the only kind of Jewish conversion that would be universally accepted was an Orthodox one, I contacted a local Orthodox rabbi and asked if we could please put the wheels in motion to arrange an Orthodox conversion for my son. On that day, my whole world fell apart. The rabbi told me that an Orthodox conversion could be performed only in a situation where both parents were Orthodox Jews. Even a secular Jewish family would not qualify for an Orthodox conversion, much less an interfaith family. The reason is that Orthodox Judaism does not have an interest in creating Jews who will not keep shabbos, not keep kosher, not keep the mitzvos. I told him that our intention was to send our son to a Jewish school. He told me it was a nice idea, but it wasn’t enough. After much soul-searching, we converted our son under the auspices of the Conservative movement. I thought I would be so happy the day our son converted, but instead I was depressed. I thought that I would eventually be reconciled to the non-Orthodox conversion, but I never was. The pintele Yid was sad.

I enrolled my son in the Orthodox day camp and later the Orthodox Nursery School. I would look at the other mothers with their long sleeves and sheitels (wigs), surrounded by lots of children. I wondered what it would be like to be one of them. I began to ask a lot of questions and do a lot of reading to increase our level of observance. I had a lot to learn. For example, I thought I kept a kosher home until I began to subscribe to Kashrus magazine and found out otherwise. I gave away my shorts and sleeveless tops and began to dress more modestly. Sometimes the other mothers would chat with me, and in the course of conversation, they would ask me how I had “found out” about the camp or the school. I knew they meant well, so I tried not to be offended. They clearly viewed me as an outsider. Eventually, I confided in one of the women about my situation, and my disappointment regarding my son’s conversion. She advised me to phone the rabbi of her shul. Her rabbi told me that if we raised our son as an Orthodox Jew, he “might” be able to convert as a teenager. This wasn’t the answer I wanted to hear, but it was the first glimmer of hope I had. I don’t remember the remainder of the conversation, except that I told the rabbi we wanted to attend his shul. He told me we were welcome to attend but warned me that we could never join as members because of the intermarriage. He also told me that the community would not be very accepting of our situation. The following year, we adopted a second son, and the year after that, we bought a new house, which was within walking distance of the shul. Contrary to what the rabbi had told me, the community seemed very welcoming to us. Clearly, the rabbi had been wrong. I was so excited. It was like a dream come true. The pintele Yid burned bright.

As we grew in observance, I finally acknowledged that this was not just about my children. This was about me. I had found a spiritual home. I knew who I was and where I was going. I was so happy to be an Orthodox Jew and part of the Orthodox community. Once we had settled into our new house, I embarked on active participation in community life. I began to entertain and invite members of the synagogue to our home for shabbos dinner, etc. For the first few months, everything seemed great, until the day one particular woman turned down my invitation. She told me she was sorry, but if she accepted my dinner invitation, it would send the message to her children that she condoned my “lifestyle choice.” My “lifestyle choice?” What was she talking about? Was I drug addict? A criminal? A pervert? I was in tears. I phoned a close friend, hoping for her sympathy. Instead she presented the cold, hard facts: I had been operating in denial mode for a long time – conveniently ignoring the reality. I was married to a non-Jew. I had deluded myself into believing that the community would fail to notice. Newsflash: They had noticed. This woman had simply stated the obvious and brought me back to earth.

And now I noticed everything, too. With each passing day, the ongoing ramifications of the intermarriage became more and more apparent. I wanted so much to integrate into the Orthodox Jewish community, yet little by little, I saw that this would never be. Now, eight years later, I rarely invite community members to my home for dinner, as I can never know who will accept and who will not. I’m a wonderful planner and organizer. I could be chairing committees and arranging fundraisers, but “intermarried” women cannot play this role in an Orthodox community. I want to be part of the chevra kadisha (a group which does “tahara,” i.e., prepares the bodies of the deceased for burial). Tahara is one of the greatest mitzvos a Jew can perform for a fellow Jew, but I have been told that “intermarried” women cannot serve on the chevra kadisha. I am an outstanding teacher and have reached the point where I could teach or tutor a variety of Judaic subjects, but again, this is off-limits as “intermarried” women are poor role models. The shul has a women’s study group where various women in the community are invited to give divrei torah (on a rotating basis). I have never been invited to speak. When someone in the community has a simcha (celebration), sometimes we receive an invitation; sometimes we don’t. I would like to cover my hair and keep the laws of family purity like all the other women in my community, but under the circumstances, it would seem like a perversion of these mitzvos. I am like a child looking through the window of the candy store, wishing someone would let me in.

And what about my husband? He is generous, kind, loving and giving, a wonderful husband, and a wonderful father, but nevertheless I am profoundly lonely. We have grown apart and lead parallel lives. I envy the women in the community whose [Jewish] husbands keep shabbos and kashrus with them, learn with them, and share a personal relationship with God with them. Sometimes, I fantasize that I open my eyes one morning and see my husband davening. I envision the Jewish father who glows as he learns torah with his son. I dream of the Jewish husband who smiles as he recites kiddush for his wife. I imagine that I am Rivka, whose marriage to Yitzchak epitomized the holiness, purity, and spirituality it is possible for two people to share. I thought I could build a Jewish home with a non-Jew, but I was wrong. I often remind myself how fortunate I am to have such a kind and loving husband. Sometimes I reach a point where I think I have finally reconciled myself to the situation, but then the pain begins anew.

I firmly believe in hashgacha protis (that God watches each of us on an individual basis), and that He has a divine plan for each of us. With each passing day, I see my sons growing and developing into erlicher Yidden (refined Jews), with a true love for God, torah, and the Jewish people. One day soon, my sons will have their Orthodox conversions, learn in yeshiva, marry religious Jewish women, and have Jewish families of their own. The torah will be passed to the next generation, and the pintele Yid will smile. But for myself, the twisted thing has not been straightened and that which is missing will never be numbered. I am the eternal child looking in the candy store window, wishing I could walk through the door.

Share your thoughts with us.

December Dilemma

“A couple has agreed upon marriage to raise the children according to one faith (for argument sake, let’s say Judaism). The non-Jewish spouse is trying to “get with the program” and is contemplating conversion – but hasn’t quite reconciled all the issues. The end of the year is upon them and the old “December Dilemma” has reared its face. George, the non-Jewish spouse wants a Christmas tree, and Deborah wants nothing of it.

If they approached you, how would you advise them? (Remember, they made a child-rearing agreement, and George is considering conversion).

Theological Tug of War with Kids

Divorced parents of different faiths can be prohibited from teaching their religious beliefs to their children if it would harm them, the Massachusetts state Supreme Judicial Court has ruled. The father, Jeffrey P. Kendall, is a member of the fundamentalist Boston Church of Christ. The mother, Barbara Kendall, is an Orthodox Jew. The children, aged 4, 6 and 9, are being raised by the mother as Orthodox Jews and she argued they would be forced to learn teachings that contradict her religion. The high court justices called it a “close question” but said the state and U.S. constitutions permit limitations on individual liberties if there is a compelling interest. “Promoting the best interests of the children is an interest sufficiently compelling to impose a burden on the (father’s) right to practice religion and his parental rights to determine the religious upbringing of his children,” wrote Justice Neil Lynch. The mother’s lawyer, David Cherny, wrote that the children “are experiencing emotional distress because of the exposure to Jeff’s religion, which teaches them that in order to be ‘saved’ they must accept Jesus Christ. “These teachings contradict their Jewish ethnicity, force them to regard their mother as someone doomed to hell and place them in the unenviable position of having to regard choosing between religions as choosing between parents.”-Kendall V. Kendall, SJC-07427 (1997)

Do you agree with the decision of the Massachusetts State Supreme Court? What should the couple do, as they share custody of these children, to alleviate the confusion and distress that the mother alleges that they are going through?

When Faith and Relationships are at Odds

“I was so strong in my faith. I was certain that when we got married that my husband would ‘see the light’ and join me. I really loved God and I really loved Sam. It is true that we agreed to ‘live and let live’ when it came to religion, but I still had my dreams. I even got my parents to acquiesce to the marriage. My pastor was not thrilled. He was concerned that marrying an unbeliever would draw me away from my relationship with Jesus. He strongly advised me to break off the relationship. He tried to tell me that such a marriage would never be as fulfilling as it might be. I just didn’t see it that way. Sam seemed so perfect for me.

“That was four years ago. I am starting to see cracks in the perfection of which I dreamed. It’s me – and my faith – and what has happened to it.

“At first, I ‘cheated’ on Sam. Despite our agreement that religion was off-limits, I sometimes tried to wiggle in some little hints that he consider changing his beliefs just a bit. The first time or two he just gave me a look that told me he was on to my little subterfuge. But then he really let loose. We’ve only had a couple of serious arguments in our four years together. They were both about religion. After that I stopped talking about it. It is hard, though, because Jesus was a big part of my life. , I used to “share” my faith so easily with friends, with people in our church. Now I stay quiet. I stopped going to church because I didn’t want to interfere with the time that Sam and I have together on weekends. I don’t talk about Jesus, because it’s off-limits. I feel self-conscious reading my Christian books because I am afraid Sam will think I am trying to push them on him. If I am honest with myself, I have to admit that a peaceful marriage has become more important to me than my relationship with Jesus.

“With time, I’ve become rather disconnected. But I feel badly about it, too. I sometimes blame Sam for the fact that I have back-slid so much. We don’t argue about religion anymore, but the peace is not a harmonious one. There is always an undercurrent of tension. Even topics of moral and ethical issues become tricky conversation, because I would want to bring my Christian values into play; ask ‘What would Jesus do?’ and that would cause conflict. I always hoped my faith and values would strengthen our relationship. In the end, my faith has only distanced me from Sam – and my relationship with Sam has distanced me from my faith.

“Maybe the pastor was right. Maybe my marriage is not all it might have been, had I made other choices. “

Do you suppose such experiences are an indication that Jesus is a distancing factor in interfaith relationships and perhaps even counter-productive in terms of establishing shared values to preserve marriage?

Do you have a personal story to share on how your spouse or partner’s belief got in the way of developing a lasting and solid relationship?

Share your thoughts with us.

The Conversion Dilemma

“The Jewish partner connecting to his/her roots, especially if he/she is starting to take on mitzvos, can cause a lot of stress in a marriage that was not there before. Even before any commitment to observance, just the thought of the situation arising may be seen as a barrier. Our guess is that you’ve encountered a person who converted to Judaism and left a Jewish-from-birth spouse in the dust, so to speak, in the whirlwind of observance that conversion of necessity creates. The demands of an observant spouse to keep kosher or observe Shabbat etc. flies in the face of business-as-usual. The non-Jewish/less-observant spouse (even if accommodating) may well resent the changes. The converted spouse sees no choice in the matter, but feels guilty about making his/her spouse unhappy, or about messing up a relationship that was fine before; or, they begin to let their own observance slide to make the gap less of a problem.” (Shoshana Zakar)

Intolerance and lack of respect between members of different faiths brings much strife and discord to the world. When this intolerance exists within one family the results are often devastating. Among the greatest challenges of family counselors today is keeping peace in interfaith marriages where one spouse has discovered faith or has become “born again” into a religious philosophy.

Testimonials sent to our center identify three major causes of conflict in such marriages:

1. Gentile spouses who convert to Judaism and leave Jewish-from-birth spouses bewildered or lagging behind in sharing the enthusiasm.

2. Children of such relationships who now become living “tug-of-war” objects between two people vying to control the educational and social influence of their charges.

3. Increased expenditure and investment of time and resources straining the modest budget of certain couples.

Here is a sample of other pressing issues that might result from visiting our Two Roads site:

Are you saying that intermarriage is OK?

What religion would our children be? Should we just let them decide?

My in-laws want me to convert….

Is it OK to go to each other’s religious services?

Can we celebrate each other’s holidays?

What do I do when my spouse goes “head over heels” for a form of religious practice?

Please share your thoughts in the comments section.